Happiness covers me.
Torture awaits them.
My hands are covered with Hinna.
Their hands are stained with blood.
I wear my bridal dress.
They wear their jumper suits.
I put on my adornments.
They are adorned with iron chains.
My head is covered with a long fancy cloth.
They are covered with garments of humiliation.
I sit in the glamorous wedding lights.
They lie in gloom and darkness.
I have the best meals before me.
They have forgotten their taste.
I weep at the thought of leaving my family’s home.
Their tears don’t make a difference.
I hear laughs of joy.
They hear screams of torture and death.
I await my husband’s approach.
They are stripped and raped.
I can’t think of any greater happiness.
They can’t think of any greater calamity.
Today I became someone’s wife.
They became terrorists.
I am guilty of extravagance.
They are guilty of nothing.
Be patient O my brothers and sisters! Is not a room that leads to MARTRYDOM better than my bedroom?
-your sister in Islam
Edited by ZanjabiLinMYsaLsaBil, 30 December 2011 - 01:56 PM.